


Stamen-On-Stamen

by Anonymous



Category: DARLING In The FRANXX (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger Management, Bruises, Choking, Dominance, Food Sex, Hate Sex, Insults, M/M, Masochism, Post Partner Shuffle, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexual Tension, Spoilers for Episode 11, Switching, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “The book says the first time is painful,” says Mitsuru, dragging the zipper down as Futoshi’s arms fall to his sides. Mitsuru pushes into him further, seeing the blush on Futoshi’s chubby cheeks grow even redder. “I don’t care for you, so that’s why I’m going to make you cry. You hate me, too, don’t you?”Futoshi is pressed into the table again, this time with significantly more force. He’s literally backed into a corner. “Y-Yeah, I do.” He watches Mitsuru’s hand continues to move the zipper down, until his chest and stomach are bare.“Then it’s settled.”





	Stamen-On-Stamen

**Author's Note:**

> > ”mitsushi is just gonna be mitsuru fucking futoshi while choking him with food let’s be honest. 
>> 
>> but then futoshi gets on top _gasps._ ”
> 
> _— one of my friends on discord_
> 
> and so, this masterpiece was born.

Dusk has just hit on the day of the Gutenberg class’s attack on the plantation. 

The day of the unexpected and ever-influential partner shuffle. 

The boarding house air is noticeably more tension-filled and awkward than previous nights. With the intense battle over with, there’s unfortunately more than enough time for everyone to think. 

But it’s not in either Mitsuru nor Futoshi’s polar opposite natures to simply _think_. Though in different ways, they’re both decidedly men of action.

* * *

While the others are still getting clothed in the hangar, Mitsuru had somehow cleaned up his wounds and changed back into his uniform with more than enough time to spare. He’s antisocial, he’s snarky, and he’d rather be alone. There’s no point in waiting for any of them to finish up. Mitsuru exits the infirmary, contemplating ripping the blood-stained bandages off of his forehead and tugging at the uniform zipper that’s already firmly pulled up to his chin. 

There is a hoarse, irritated sigh from him as he takes the elevator back up to Mistilteinn—the birdcage that holds them hostage. 

The pathway back to the boarding house is hardly lit by the short lampposts on the sides of it, creating a clear border between the dirt and the trees. He walks briskly.

Crickets chirp. The slight humidity makes him itch and squirm. He’s so exhausted, he just wants to crawl in bed and pass out. Mitsuru’s head throbs in tune with each of his steps. 

He hurries. 

The bold, intimidating sight of the boarding house looms over him. Its silhouette stretches unimaginably long behind him, illuminated by the moon. 

Both of his hands grasp the double handles an pull the heavy doors open.  
They slam behind him. 

Indoors, the temperature is much cooler than the outside, but that’s to be expected. Everything is dark, save for the silvery moonlight filtering in through the upstairs hallway windows. 

He’s apathetic toward the others. If he didn’t need a squad, he’d go solo. And if he didn’t need a Pistil, he’d surely choose to pilot alone. 

Kokoro had kept going on and on with her bullshit the whole time they’d been piloting—not like she was one to talk with what she’d done earlier just this day—and then proceeded to nearly get both of them killed (maybe the whole squad, actually).  
What a waste. The reality is that she’s just as clingy and whipped for him as Futoshi is toward her—the only difference is that Futoshi wouldn’t recklessly endanger everyone’s lives just for the sake of an ideal. Just to prove a point that was ultimately lost on him.

Mitsuru rubs his temples. If he keeps thinking about that wench, he’ll get a full-blown migraine. No, the blood vessels in his head will surely explode. 

Three steps up the grand staircase, and Mitsuru pauses in his place, stopping himself from turning toward the boys’ dorms. 

Kokoro had taken that book from the city. Kokoro had dropped it in the greenhouse when she’d interrupted his quiet time yet again—she still had the damn thing, evidently. 

Well, there was no one here to catch him steal it for the night. He’s a quick reader, anyhow. 

Mitsuru, now on the landing, turns himself to face the girls’ dorms.

* * *

Out of Hiro, Goro, and Zorome, Futoshi is the first one out of the changing room. Zorome had called out to him to stay and wait for them—but Futoshi just wants to go back to his room and sulk. 

Maybe cry, too. A few more days of this and he’ll be over it. 

A few more days and he’ll be over it. 

Passing by the infirmary—eyes prickling with tears that he won’t let fall (yet)—he sees that it’s empty. His stomach churns a bit. That means Mitsuru is already back home. He doesn’t want to deal with this now. 

Maybe he should go back? No, he’s not a coward—

Futoshi will press on against his better judgement. 

He doesn’t rush back. Partly because of all the energy he had to expend back when he was holding that Gutenberg back. Being in Chlorophytum was....liberating, in a way. It was best for low codes to be paired with each other so they could fight at their full potential, after all. This is what Futoshi keeps telling himself when his bottom lip quivers at the thought of—

He’s still sweating from the battle. Maybe he should exercise more? His hand goes up to wipe his forehead, then down to subconsciously pat his belly. Maybe that’s why she—

There are fireflies flying around the bridge in Mistilteinn, connecting HQ to the forest over a river. The ducks are quacking. Up above, the stars blink in and out, clouds obscuring them occasionally. Nighttime is nice and quiet and serene. 

The sight of the boarding house is peaceful, too. Comforting. Even if, after today, this house won’t feel the exact same. Futoshi lets out a long breath.  
When he steps inside, the relief is palpable. Some of the floorboards creak underneath his feet. 

This whole partner shuffle ordeal still leaves a sour taste in his mouth. The way to fix that is to eat something. He’s hungry, anyways. At the same moment, his stomach grumbles. Without even thinking, Futoshi’s already heading toward the mess hall. 

Maybe he’s too much of a glutton. It’s true he hasn’t been eating much since they’ve switched partners, but only eating a third of his usual still means he’s eating a lot.  
Yeah, he _is_ a glutton. 

Futoshi makes sure he shuts the double doors quietly behind him. Another deep exhale. One of the tables is still full of fresh desserts and meats. 

Pies, cakes, pastries, eggs, sweet rolls, steak, carrots, celery, apples, brownies, bread rolls...

His stomach growls pleadingly again, making Futoshi blush even though no one is around. 

Well, it’s not like he’ll object to stuffing his face full of food. 

One of his hands reaches out to grab a piece of bread.

* * *

The double doors are swiftly thrown open in a flurry, and close faster than Futoshi can turn around to see the culprit. He’s guiltily munching on a bread roll with his face all red, and he’d almost choked on his food at the loud noise. 

“—I figured I’d find you in _here_.” 

_Mitsuru_. His smirk is disgusting. 

In his hands, there’s a small book, the cover colored with delicate shades of pink and yellow. It is pressed firmly against his chest with one hand. 

Futoshi glares. “Y-You—“

“—Save it.” Mitsuru steps forward coldly, sizing Futoshi up. He stares up at him and cocks a brow. 

Futoshi looks down at him, fists clenched. There are still bread crumbs on his cheeks, and a bun in one hand. 

Mitsuru says, “Are you gonna punch me again?”

Futoshi sniffles his snot back up into his nose. But his voice raises, “You have no idea how much I want to.” A sigh lets out, shaky and angry. He shuts his eyes. 

Mitsuru keeps stepping forward until Futoshi’s backed into the table. He looks down at where his back is pressed into its edge. 

“Us Children can stick our bodies together.” He shoves the book into Futoshi’s chest, pushing tight until he makes an ‘Oof’ sound. Mitsuru only releases once Futoshi grabs it with his other hand curiously. “It’s something the Adults can’t do.”

“Wh-What...” He thumbs through some of the pages the best he can with one hand. _Female reproductive system, male reproductive system, sex, babies..._

“It’s your precious _Kokoro-chan’s_ book.” A laugh can’t help but bubble up at the end. One full of mockery and malice. 

Futoshi visibly stiffens. He growls a little, lowly. 

Mitsuru says, “I don’t care about her.” 

“What do you...” Futoshi’s gaze keeps darting around. “Isn’t that the whole reason you...”

“That’s whole reason that _she_ wanted to switch. Do you really think we talked about that sort of thing even once? Pistils aren’t as good, you know.” Mitsuru can’t help but sneer through a cackle. He snatches the book from Futoshi—while he’s momentarily confused—and throws it haphazardly onto the table. “Delusional bitch.”

“Hey!” Suddenly, there’s a large hand tugging hard at Mitsuru’s collar. “What gives you the right to call her names like that?!” Futoshi’s fingers tug harder. “How can you—!”

But, despite clenching his teeth from anger, Mitsuru still manages to jab his arm out and grab Futoshi’s zipper. 

It makes Futoshi’s grumpy face ebb away as he looks down curiously. His grip on Mitsuru’s collar lessens gradually. 

“The book says the first time is painful,” says Mitsuru, dragging the zipper down as Futoshi’s arms fall to his sides. Mitsuru pushes into him further, seeing the blush on Futoshi’s chubby cheeks grow even redder. “I don’t care for you, so that’s why I’m going to make you cry. You hate me, too, don’t you?”

Futoshi is pressed into the table again, this time with significantly more force. He’s literally backed into a corner. “Y-Yeah, I do.” He watches Mitsuru’s hand continues to move the zipper down, until his chest and stomach are bare. 

“Then it’s settled.” Mitsuru looks and then— He grabs the bread roll Futoshi had been eating, and shoves it up against his lips. Futoshi opens up unsurprisingly without objection; Mitsuru forces the bun inside, until only a little bit peeks out. 

Futoshi’s cheeks are puffed out and shading maroon. But he still chews, even as Mitsuru shakes the rest of his clothes off. Then he practically rips his underwear down to his feet. Futoshi’s cock is thick and hard already, and Mitsuru eyeballs it maliciously. He pushes the bread further into Futoshi’s mouth, reveling in the way he grimaces. 

“Flip over,” he barks, at the same time grabbing Futoshi roughly at the side and yanking him. A scowl appears on Futoshi’s face, but he leans himself stomach-down onto the table. 

His ass is nice and plump. 

“Hmm...” He hums as if he’s deciding what to do, but the reality is that he’s been mulling this over in the time it took to walk from Kokoro’s room down to the dining hall. Well, he has a lot to work with. 

He presses Futoshi’s neck down on the table, and the latter grumbles out a choke. Mitsuru makes a ‘tsk’ sound as he uses his other hand to undress. First it’s the sound of the zipper and his shoes flicking off, then him swiftly stepping out of his uniform. 

His boxers pull down, revealing an average-sized dick in length, though extraordinarily thin. Needless to say, it wouldn’t do much damage—that’s where Mitsuru needed to get creative. 

Mitsuru runs his fingers down Futoshi’s crack ever-so-slightly. Barely a wisp of a feeling is felt by Futoshi at all. He spreads his cheeks with his hand, stepping forward and then _jabbing_ his dick inside with such force that he can hear Futoshi gag as he’s thrusted forward. 

It catches him off-guard, as he had swallowed the last of his bread just as Mitsuru had inserted himself into him. He gasps, wincing against the tablecloth. 

Even the plates had shook with the movement, porcelain clinking against the wood. 

Mitsuru pauses. “Finished eating already?” Mitsuru asks mockingly; though, really, he already knows that he’s done. Mitsuru shakes his head wearily. “That won’t do.”

Yes, before he starts really getting into it, this’ll be when he has to get creative. Wild. 

Among the desserts already laid out on the table, there is triple chocolate cake, vanilla cake with strawberries on top, sweet breads, matcha sweet rolls, fruit tarts...and then, Mitsuru finally eyes the perfect one: Fluffy and decadent creampuffs. 

They’re tan in color, the biscuit-cake shell very crispy and the inside filling almost pastel pink looking, and sure to be sweet. That’ll be enough to shut Futoshi up again. 

Mitsuru buckles his hips in pleasure, his dick getting harder inside of Futoshi as he imagines the pain he’s about to inflict—

He leans over Futoshi suddenly, making his butt jiggle, and plants his hands on either side of him on the table. Futoshi is mewling, grumbling, shivering from all these new sensations. 

And when Mitsuru reaches out for the wide dish, it is just in reach. Triumphantly, his fingertips touch the coolness of the porcelain, dragged it closer. The sound makes Futoshi notice, whipping his head to the left and gasping softly at the sight of the dessert. 

He grabs one lightly, careful not to get the whipped filling all over his fingers. His dick pushes in harder, Mitsuru maneuvering his arm around to Futoshi’s head. With the other hand, he yanks his head up by his hair, making Futoshi curse and swat his hand away. Mitsuru huffs but lets go as he brings the creampuff up to Futoshi’s lips. 

And he doesn’t even have to press it up against him to get him to open up—he’d already been waiting. Mitsuru shoves the pastry inside twice as aggressively than he’d pushed the bread in. He keeps shoving, until there are more sounds of discomfort, bringing him close to choking. There is icing and whipped cream on his lips. 

“Hnnggh...” Futoshi is lifting his head up, his eyes still closed. 

He hears Futoshi bite down and freeze against the tabletop, chewing softly and quietly while Mitsuru pulls back. 

Mitsuru licks the last bits of crumbs and filling off of his fingers, then pumps in and out in a slow rhythm. “Fatty,” he grunts, pushing his dick back in with a firm jab. Mitsuru reaches down and squishes Futoshi’s soft chest with one hand. 

After that, there’s some squirming from Futoshi as Mitsuru’s cold hands touch his warm, bare flesh. There’s even more coughing as Futoshi struggles to eat the food that’s almost literally choking him—but at the same time, really turns him on. 

Finally, the chewing stops, and Futoshi gasps for a breath, letting out a few coughs and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Asshole.” Futoshi is bracing himself against the table, groaning and grasping at the tablecloth with his fingers. His ass cheeks clench up. 

The insults go on like this for a while. Back and forth, back and forth—as Mitsuru forces Futoshi onto the table with his thrusting and gropes his round, thick ass. 

Futoshi draws a sharp breath, clenching his fists again while uttering, “Bastard.” He exhales, shaking his head. “You’re just a bastard.”

“Yeah?” Mitsuru, in retaliation, scowls, grabbing Futoshi’s soft belly and squeezing. “Fatass.”

The slightest bit of a whimper comes from Futoshi, but it’s quickly replaced by a growl, and Mitsuru can feel the vibrations from it. But he keeps grasping at Futoshi’s hips, his back arching as he nears his climax. He tries to hold in his yells, but a few yelps escape his lips as his cum spills into Futoshi. 

There’s a change in pace when Mitsuru stops to catch his breath. He pulls out, letting the last thin strands of cum weakly spill out of his dick and pool onto the floor. Futoshi’s asshole is slicked with white and shining. 

Futoshi stands up, slowly turning around... He glares at Mitsuru. One hand reaches out to roughly grab his shoulder. His eyebrows furrow. Mitsuru glares back, looking up at him. 

But Mitsuru is small. 

Futoshi shoves him onto the mess hall table with ease, laying him down on his back. Mitsuru winces from the impact of the hard wood against the back of his head. 

“I-I was letting you do all that...” Despite everything, there’s a blush above Futoshi’s scowl. His hand goes up, and his palm slides along Mitsuru’s chest—rubbing his ribs that poke out—then his flat stomach. “You’re way too scrawny to actually hold me down, you know...”

“Maybe _you’re_ just too big,” retorts Mitsuru with an arrogant air to his voice. His fingers reach up to pinch a bit of his chubby tummy— 

Futoshi swats his hand away, cheeks heating up. He pushes him further toward the center on the table, and then Futoshi kneels on top of it. 

“You sure it can hold your weight—“ Mitsuru is cut off by Futoshi forcibly spreading his legs open. Mitsuru’s little dick had fallen limp at his crotch, but suddenly springs up again. 

Mitsuru’s gaze looks down... Futoshi’s cock is red and swollen, slicked with pre-cum and ready to burst with his seed. 

_Fuck._

“You won’t get away with all that _that_ easy,” Futoshi says, although his cheeks are burning red. 

His body inches closer to Mitsuru’s, his thick fingers running along Mitsuru’s shaft, from his tip all the way down until he rubs at his asshole. Presses it. Shoves two of his fingers inside. 

Mitsuru shuts up real quick after this.  
His eyes squeeze closed. The sensation makes him squirm. 

Futoshi pulls them out. They’re wet. 

There is a moment of silence, and then Futoshi’s cock penetrates Mitsuru’s tight, tight asshole. 

It hardly fits. 

Mitsuru bites his lower lip, but doesn’t utter a single word, nor yelp. He can’t give in to that kind of thing. Not in front of _him_. He’s sure Futoshi must feel the same. Acting tough is just something they naturally do around each other, thought both are probably too stubborn to admit it’s from sheer pride. 

But he hears Futoshi grumble and wince above him, eyes squeezed closed with concentration as he bends over Mitsuru’s frail body. He firmly places his hands on either side of Mitsuru, holding himself up. 

The table shakes a little at first from all the thrusting. 

Then, Futoshi lifts one hand up cautiously, looking back and forth between his palm and Mitsuru’s face. He takes it and brings it to Mitsuru, skirting it from his too-bony chest and collar all the way up to his neck. 

Unlike before, this time he really does clasp his hand around Mitsuru’s frail neck. He _squeezes_ , but not so tightly that he’d die from asphyxiation. 

Mitsuru’s a little shocked by such forward action, but then again, Futoshi _had_ been the one to sucker-punch him in the face so unexpectedly—so hard that it’d made his nose bleed, though that wasn’t saying much considering how physically weak Mitsuru was. Especially compared to someone stocky like Futoshi. 

“Y-You—“ is the only thing he manages to get out. His voice is hoarse. He claws at Futoshi’s arms, but they don’t budge. 

Futoshi thrusts harder into him, and he feels his asshole burning. Like it’s about to burst open. 

He stops, suddenly, with his cock as far up Mitsuru’s ass as it can go. It’s _painful_ , making one of Mitsuru’s eyes shut and his lips turn into a growl, baring some of his teeth. Of course, the choking had lessened, but it makes it hard to breathe. His asshole is pulsing, throbbing wildly.

His body isn’t meant for this, is it? Mitsuru is so much smaller, his hole straining just to contain Futoshi’s tip, much less his entire shaft stuffer inside like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Maybe Futoshi is greedy, and just hates him _that_ much—and maybe Mitsuru likes it, more than he thought he ever would (more than he would ever care to admit). 

As bad as it sounds, he loves the feeling of that thickness inside, filling him up to the brim so that there’s absolutely no space left for anything else. He can tell immediately that after tonight, he’ll barely be able to walk tomorrow. Futoshi’s cock moves around, and Mitsuru feels like it’s about to puncture one of his organs. 

And then he feels the strange sensation of Futoshi’s cum squirting out. 

“A-Ah...!” There is a long, palpable sigh from Futoshi as it happens, his grip on Mitsuru’s throat releasing as his dick slowly pulls out by an inch or two. What’s left are black and blue imprints shaped like fingers, like a snake had constricted him; there must be red marks on his back and legs from all the forceful pushing. 

Mitsuru’s ass feels full, but not in the same way as when Futoshi’s girth had penetrated so deeply, and stayed there for what seemed like forever. 

Both of them are breathing heavily, caked with sweat. 

Futoshi gets off the table, regaining his balance once his feet hit the floor. He grabs his clothes, shielding himself as he sits onto the nearest chair. When Mitsuru sits up, his head is dizzy, as if he had a headache. Well, he sort of does, anyway. 

A breath that’s too strained releases from Mitsuru’s lips. He tilts his head to the side—where the book still is, laying flat on the tabletop, the mother and newborn baby drawn on the cover soaked in cum. A smirk can’t help but creep up. “Damn, looks like that bitch was good for _something_...”

Futoshi frowns with red cheeks. “D-Don’t talk about Kokoro-chan that way!”

“Hmm...” Mitsuru clicks his tongue. “I’ll make it a lot worse next time.”

“Is that a promise?” Futoshi kind of just sits there on the table, his cock still sharp at attention as he watches Mitsuru dress up. This is good anger release, after all. 

Mitsuru doesn’t answer him. 

“So will I, then...” says Futoshi, maybe just to break the silence and fill the last gap of their deal. 

There’s another smirk from Mitsuru as he briefly looks back, with Futoshi just having put on his underwear back on. He opens the door and walks out, adjusting his collar and saying, “I always knew Stamen-on-Stamen was better.”


End file.
